


I Didn't Need Help

by MaccasWeirdFriend



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Confessions, I'm Not Even Subtle About It, John Plays the Piano, Late Night Conversations, Late Night Jamming, M/M, McLennon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 14:13:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11254611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaccasWeirdFriend/pseuds/MaccasWeirdFriend
Summary: Paul wakes up in the middle of the night to music. This is something he's used to and is just about to go back to sleep when the music gets louder and more thunderous. He goes downstairs to find it's John, hoping for a simple talk so he can get some sleep.He doesn't get much sleep that night.





	I Didn't Need Help

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: My first McLennon! Don't ask how I got this idea, I don't know either. Just tell me if you think it's good or not! Thanks!

Paul crawled into bed, hoping sleep would take him away to a very warm, very peaceful place as he took off his night shoes.

It didn't happen automatically, but he was still holding out hope that it would. A very creative day in the studio ended up wearing him out, even with all the laughs he shared with the other lads.

He covered himself soundlessly, going over the day to himself as he tried to speed up the sleeping process.

They got big progress on a song today that John wrote, he thought with a drawn-out yawn. John had just presented it today and everyone was on board with it the second the song ended.

Notes were already placed in the right order, the melody, which instruments to play, just about everything. If it hadn't been 10 at night when they finally came up for air, the band might have still been there at that very moment.

So here they were. All of them under one roof in the cosy flat Brian found them not too far from the studio.

This thought finally got Paul's eyelids to become heavy, the thoughts of music slowly draining out of him. His eyes closed at last and the sleep that he had hoped for finally came. A small smile ghosted his face.

Peace at last.

Clang.

Or not.

Paul wiped the small sleep he had gotten from his eyes and stared at the clock.

Two forty-eight.

So he did get some sleep, albeit it was barely three hours worth. He felt like he had only just closed his eyes.

Clang.

Now Paul rose from his bed, stretching, blinking, anything to wake him up a little more.

Clang.

That noise again.

It had to be the piano downstairs, the piano made that same sound. Only he never heard it so late at night before.

He made his way down the stairs, trudging toward the piano and its player, still trying to get the sleep out of his eyes.

Paul got to the parlour, fumbling for the lights in the total dark the room was cast in. Only one person in the flat would try that.

"John?"

Paul finally found the light switch and flipped it on.

It was John.

The other hardly noticed his presence. John stopped for a moment, but only to flip the music sheet from one side to another.

John placed his hands on the keyboard, an air of peace falling over the two of them. A small smile appeared on Paul's face but it was gone in an instant and replaced with slight horror when John finally started to play.

And by play, the author means slammed.

John raised his hands again, to presumably do the same thing over again that woke Paul up, but the latter woke from the quiet spell rooting him in his spot and ran over to John.

"John! What the hell are you doing?" Paul asked loudly, even as he tried to keep his voice down.

John, again, didn't acknowledge that Paul even opened his mouth and raised his hands once more.

"John!"

This time, Paul grabbed his hands. The elder tried to fight his way out of Paul's grasp but couldn't and just gave up in the end.

Paul raised an eyebrow to this but didn't push any further, glad that he at least got his attention.

"Are you okay?"

Paul was trying to test the waters, get a reaction out of his friend to see what was wrong—

"I'm banging on the piano at three in the fucking morning, do you think I'm okay?"

Well, no. Not really. But he knew which John he was getting: The one who was eager to be defensive and yell and not listen to other people. He sort of hated that John.

"No, I just want to know what's wrong."

"I just told you, I'm banging on the piano at three in the fucking morning."

"It's actually two fifty-eight, mate."

"Shut up."

It wasn't as harsh as the other two statements, so there was that.

"Why are you doing this though?"

John raised an eyebrow as if to say that was a stupid question with his eyebrows only. Paul picked up on that, giving John a quick moment. Of course, the elder didn't take it.

"You can talk to me, mate. You do know that yeah? I'm not going to bring you down or anything. I'll just sit down here with you and listen. I'll be giving it—"

"For someone who's going to listen, you talk too much," John murmured, getting Paul to stop mid awkward ramble.

It allowed the bassist a smile. He was there, the happy-go-lucky John. This bi-polar one just like taking the reigns far too often.

"You need to talk for me to listen, remember?"

John stood up, gently taking his hand from Paul's grasp at last.

Paul's face reddened. Were they still holding hands this whole time? Judging from John's face, he was just as embarrassed, if not more.

John stood there, in the middle of the room, just staring at Paul, but not truly doing that. He was thinking. Of what, was lost to Paul.

"It's my mum."

Oh . . .

"The reason you're making noise on the piano?" Paul question.

The other made a small noise in the back of his throat like he wanted to correct Paul. But he was right, so he let it go and nodded slowly.

"I've been thinking. Maybe a bit too much, but I've been thinking."

Paul didn't say anything, letting the silence grow.

"I don't think she'd be happy with me—"

"John, she loved you! I'm sure she's smiling down and still loving you just as much. What would make you think she wouldn't?"

John stood rigidly, looking down at his shoes, the walls. Anything but Paul.

"I think I like a guy."

Paul sighed, saying something under his breath along the lines of bloody hell . . .

"That's it? Everyone likes each other, how else—"

"Not in that way, Paul!"

Paul sat there behind the piano, absolutely stunned. If this wasn't such a serious moment, John would have laughed.

"So . . . Like Brian?"

John nodded slowly, then stopped midway.

"Not really, just one guy. I guess."

"Is he at least good looking? Funny? We'll need to meet him one day."

It was John's turn to look surprised.

No yelling? No fear? Huh, he was worried over nothing, though he hadn't gotten to the true reason for his worries.

"I think you'll like him."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. He's kind of funny, but he can be a pretentious prick sometimes."

"So you can deal with him but not me? He must have a good face."

If only you knew, McCartney.

"He does, it's round and kinda chubby. Have these girly eyebrows—"

"Are you . . . ?"

The room became silent again.

Paul didn't know if he felt the same way. He thought of John as a brother! He wasn't sure if he could think of him any differently.

But he was right there. And John was sweet when he tried his hardest. He was genuine and that's what Paul sought for. It wouldn't be horrible at all. Probably enjoyable.

"It's you."

John's face was undeniably red after he said that. The red shirt he was wearing couldn't even match the colour his skin was.

Paul couldn't help but laugh.

It started off as a small snigger, but over time it grew so that his sides hurt and his eyes were watery.

John, throughout it all, didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to react to this and didn't know where to go. Run? Stand there as his face, ears and neck continued to get more red? Stop laughing, Paul!

"I'm sorry," Paul whispered as he tried to stop. "Really, I am. It's just that your face is so cute when it's red!"

Again, he started laughing. But John could allow himself a smile. This was much better than the reasons he thought Paul was laughing for.

The younger stood from the stool, smiled a little and walked toward him. He took his hand once again, making John blush all the more, and looked up at him.

"Okay. We need to go to bed, alright?"

John allowed himself to be led to Paul's bedroom. Because it was closer and Paul was too tired to want to walk to John's, even though it was only a few more steps.

Paul practically hid under the covers, only to pop his head out, quietly inviting John there too. Of course, John came.

"Night, Johnny," Paul sighed, sounding as tired as he was the first time he went to bed.

He didn't know how he felt, but he liked this. Whatever this was. Besides, John looked happier than he had in a long time and he liked that. So, he had to like this. Simple. He'll figure out a way to tell John that in the morning, in a less confusing way.

"Night, Paulie," John responded.

He wasn't sleeping that night. He hugged Paul closer to him, kissed the top of his head, smiled a little. Anything to remind himself this was real.

He thought Paul would be mad, or scared. Anything other than what this was.

Hopefully, Paul was right and his mum was truly happy for him in this moment.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Not so good ending? Yeah, I thought so too . . . I'll try to write more stuff for you all, so see you then!


End file.
